


Magical Ass Tentababies: Or, What Science Has Done

by dotchan



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, Humor, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:52:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8530237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotchan/pseuds/dotchan
Summary: Adapted from a very silly scenario from an old Panfandom RP game; BLU Medic's lines and actions written by an RP partner.Written in 2010.





	

Two weeks after the BLU Medic made his death-defying escape from the battlefield by sharing his Kritzkrieg—among other things—with the enemy Sniper, he could no longer ignore the odd symptoms that were plaguing him and ordered a battery of tests on himself to determine the cause.

To his unpleasant surprise, he discovered that he’d become pregnant.

Subsequent tests proved beyond a doubt that this was not just a false positive. He was still reeling in shock when he heard a commotion that sounded like a furious Sniper screaming that this was all the Medic’s fault and that he’d better do something about it right the bloody hell now.

Going outside, it soon became obvious that the source of this disturbance was indeed a furious Sniper screaming etcetera and so forth while the Medic’s teammates gaped in open-mouth shock at the diatribe.

The Scout, as usual, was the first to react. “Doc, that crazy ass jarman’s sayin’ you knocked him up.”

The Medic, meanwhile, ignored the boy and made his way to where the Sniper was standing. The other man, surprised by this gesture, stopped mid-rant and took to glaring daggers instead.

“I understand how you feel, Herr Sniper,” the Medic began, continuing before the Sniper could become incensed again, “I am also—inconvenienced in ze same vay.”

The Sniper stared for who knows how long before sneering: “And?”

“I, for one, see this as an opportunity for research, but I vill assist you should you choose to—”

This time, the Sniper cut in. “—none ‘a that nonsense, Doc. I’m not wussing out on this, either.” He jabbed a finger into the Medic’s chest. “And I expect you to take responsibility.”

The Medic raised an eyebrow. “Responsibility?” he echoed. “What do you want me to do, marry you?”

***

The Engineer scratched his head. “Not sure if this counts as official, pal. I ain’t ‘zactly no ordained minister.”

The Medic scowled. “Just hurry up and get it ovah vith. I need to do more tests on our conditions.” He glared at the Sniper. “And you, stop playing vith yourself.”

The Sniper gave his bowtie one last tug before letting his hand drop, glaring back. “What he said, Truckie.”

“All right. Let’s just skip over all of the windah dressin’ and get to th’ point, then. Both ‘a y’all agree ta this here arrangement, right?”

The Sniper was the first to answer. “Of course.”

The Medic wanted to roll his eyes, but contained himself. “Ja.”

“Well, then, that settles it. Yer married.” The Engineer scratched his head. “Ya don’t need ta kiss if ya don’t wanna.”

“We’ve already done lots more than just kissing,” the Sniper stage-whispered to the Medic, causing the Engineer to blush beet red and the other witnesses on hand to burst out in giggles.

***

To the Medic’s surprise and secret relief, not only did both pregnancies progress quite well—minus the typical ups and downs of one’s body being flooded with hormones, of course—the fetuses were developing much faster than expected. Less than a month after their “marriage”, both men were starting to show signs of a bulge, and consuming almost twice their usual caloric intake whenever they weren’t doubled over with morning sickness. Already almost a near carnivore, the Sniper sometimes didn’t even have the patience to cook his meals, eating the meat raw straight out of the refrigerator. The Medic, on the other hand, tried to keep his meals as balanced as possible, but he couldn’t help indulging in much more ice cream than was recommended.

The Sniper, of course, noticed that the Medic was getting chubby in quite a few more places than his waistline. “Might want to take it easy on the sweets, Doc,” he grinned, giving the Medic’s pudge a playful poke.

“Silence!” the Medic hissed, swatting the Sniper’s hand away. “Nobody asked for your opinion!”

The Sniper, instead of shrugging this off, also got uppity and blocked the Medic as he tried to leave. “Oh, so my feelings don’t matter to you, do they?”

The Medic stared up at the Sniper. “Stop twisting my words! I said nothing of the sort!”

“You did so!” the Sniper huffed, pressing as close to the Medic as their bellies allowed.

“I did not! That hat of yours must be cutting off bloodflow to your brain!”

“What’s that strange growth on your neck? Oh, I’m sorry, that’s your _face_!”

“Your mozzer—”

“Don’t you dare say anything about me Mum!”

The Pyro pulled the Sniper away before a fight broke out, while the Heavy did the same for the Medic. A few moments later, the Medic managed to realize that he was being irrational, but he still refused to speak to the Sniper. The Sniper likewise ignored him, even while the two of them were sitting together watching a film on preparing for the birth of a child.

Of course, it wasn’t the first time that the Medic had seen a pregnant woman, but this time the sight of the mother-to-be basking in that particular glow made him feel an odd sensation in his chest. It wasn’t until the Sniper passed him the box of tissues and drew one to dab at his eyes that the Medic realized he was misting up himself, and that he’d put his hand over the Sniper’s with neither of them making any sort of comment about it.

They continued watching in silence until the woman started going into labor. The Sniper was the first to speak. “Uh, Doc, since you’re the expert, how exactly are we going to be making the delivery?”

The Medic froze. He’d taken for granted that things would work out by themselves somehow. But such a belief was ridiculous. One didn’t need to be a doctor to see that both of them lacked the proper equipment for safe delivery. “I suppose I vill have to operate on you, and vice versa.”

The Sniper didn’t look happy at the prospect of going under the knife. “Couldn’t you ask my Doc for help?”

The Medic scoffed. “Zat quack? He barely even knows vhich end of ze Medigun to point!”

Further conversation was interrupted by the successful birth of the baby on film. The Sniper turned his head away, but the slight quiver in his hand was impossible to miss. “I guess if you talk me through it I should be okay.”

The Medic found himself giving the Sniper a reassuring hand squeeze. “Don’t vorry about it just yet. Besides, it vill all be vorth it in ze end.”

“As long as I don’t screw up the whole dad—mum—” the Sniper scratched the back of his head with his free hand, looking sheepish. “—parent thing, yeah.”

“You’ll do fine.”

***

The Sniper was anything but fine. Though he tried to bear everything in stoic silence, the Medic could tell that the gunman’s suffering was just as bad, if not more so, than his own. Both of them were more often than not bedridden with aching backs, swollen ankles, or tender breasts. And when that wasn’t an issue, the perceived filthiness of the base was.

The Demoman in particular got quite annoyed by the constant interruptions of his drinking sessions so one of the two expectant fathers could order a complete wipe-down of every available surface. “Now look here,” he growled, throwing a leg over the arm of the couch the Medic was trying to dust for the umpteenth time. “There is a such thing as going overboard, and ye lot passed that line ages ago. I’ve never heard of a wee baby dropping dead from some grit.”

“Zat’s because you don’t know vat sort of horrid germs are lurking everywhere.” The Medic began listing the various diseases that he read about, getting more and more worked up as he did so, and was a sobbing, incoherent mess before long.

But at least the Demoman got the point. “Okay, okay! Stop slobberin’ all over the place, I beg of ye!”

Meanwhile, the two men’s bellies grew larger and larger, and the fetuses inside grew more restless as well, as if they couldn’t wait to be born. After witnessing the Sniper have an hours-long bout with labor-like symptoms that came and went, the Medic decided that he didn’t want to be patient, either, and ordered the Sniper into the operating room.

Despite the painkillers, the Sniper was as pale as a sheet and cold sweat was beading from his face at regular intervals while the Medic cut into him. As much as the Medic held his RED counterpart in contempt, his experience with living flesh was more or less limited to plunging sharp objects into them. So he drew up on his memories of the autopsies he made back when he had just arrived at the base and filled with curiosity over how the Respawn system worked. Several nerve-wracking moments of slicing through the Sniper’s well-toned abs later, the Medic was ready to pull the baby from its womb. He reached in—

—and almost dropped the precious package as he felt far too many limbs curl around his gloved hand. Steeling himself, the Medic drew in a deep breath and kept pulling. The upper half was a healthy-looking baby (aside from the row of too-sharp teeth) bawling its tiny little lungs out. The bottom half? Eight dark red tentacles squirmed, curling and uncurling against each other as well as the Medic’s fingers.

Perhaps succumbing to parental instinct, the Sniper indicated that he wanted to hold the baby, and the Medic was all too happy to hand it over, trying not to look when the Sniper lifted his gown to give the baby access to his breasts. “Look at ‘im,” the Sniper gushed, beaming in sheer happiness. “He’s got all his fingers and little feelers and—ooh! He’s quoite the boiter, too!”

The Medic, sneaking looks as he closed the Sniper up, had to admit that the baby did look cute—come to think of it, the baby-daddy was much easier on the eyes like this as well—metaphorical warts and all. But he was starting to feel the onset of his own contractions leading to nowhere. “Ah, Herr Sniper, I hate to interrupt you vhile you have having a moment, but I vill be needing your assiztance soon.”

“Roight.” Despite that assurance, it still felt like the Sniper took his sweet time to finish feeding his spawn and set it on his shoulder, where it hung on with remarkable tenacity. “I’ll try to do what you did, but you’ll have to let me know if I’ve stuffed up somewhere.”

While the Sniper had even less qualifications to be a doctor, he was very observant and his rifle training meant his hands were so steady the Medic had no doubt he could pull off a similar feat on a plane experiencing turbulence. Before long the Medic was cradling his own wriggling mass, sore but grinning from ear to ear. “Alexis,” he decided on the spot. “I’m going to call mine Alexis.”

The Sniper, meanwhile, had moved in front of a mirror to inspect his offspring. “Well, hello, there. Guess that means you’ll be John and not Ellen.”

“Yours is male?” The Medic blinked. “How can you tell?”

“Check the underside,” the Sniper suggested, still keeping his gaze on his offspring. “Same rule as all animals, it’s pretty obvious once you know where to look: if it has an extra hole, then it’s female. If one of its curly cues is shaped different, that’s the willy, and it’s a male.”

“Oh.” The Medic checked, feeling a bit odd about poking his own child in the unmentionables, but it didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for. “Good thing Alexis is a name that works for a girl, too,” he said with a smile, while visions of putting his little princess in a blue dress with lace frills danced in his head.

“Prolly shouldn’t let them bunk together, then,” the Sniper mused with a smirk.

The Medic was about to ask why when he realized what the Sniper was implying. “At this age? Surely not! Or at least my Alexis would never do such a sing!” As if in agreement, Alexis chomped down on his finger, and the Medic found himself grinning wider as he could feel his baby girl’s fangs through the thick rubber. Why, she was already so bloodthirsty, just like her papa!

“You never know. Given how fast the pregnancy went, they might mature quicker, too.” the Sniper shot the Medic a pointed look. “Plus they might try to eat each other, too.”

“Zat could be a problem,” the Medic had to admit. He squinted at John, who was attempting to curl his tentacles around the Sniper’s shoulder and snickered. “Looks like yours is already contemplating patricide.”

“If it’s a hug, it certainly is a bit too energetic,” the Sniper agreed. “Good thing I wear long sleeves. I’d hate to explain all these bruises to the rest of the team.”

“Eizzah way, it iz still a sign of affection.” He stroked Alexis with his free hand, adding in a near whisper: “They are razer endearing.”

“True.” At last, John grew tired of attempted murder-slash-embrace and allowed the Sniper to pluck him back into his father’s arms. The Sniper nuzzled John, blinking away tears again. “Hn. Something in my eye again.”

The Medic was getting a case of fluttering lashes himself. “You know, I thought I vould never be a parent.”

The Sniper drew in a breath in a futile attempt to contain the impending deluge. “Same here.” John fussed and squirmed, causing the Sniper’s attention to go to him again.

The Medic took the moment to check on Alexis. She had already fallen asleep, still chewing on his finger. If he could melt, he would have turned into a puddle right there.

Meanwhile, the Sniper was working on getting John to sleep. It took a while, but at last the tiny thing settled against the crook of the Sniper’s elbow, making contented noises.

Both men lost it at that point, closing the distance between them so they could sob into each other’s shoulders.

***

When it came time for little Alexis and John to make their way out into the world—not so little now thanks to their feeding habits—the Medic and the Sniper were arm in arm, tears streaming down their faces. “Zey grow up zo fast,” the Medic sniffled.

“That they do,” the Sniper agreed. “Remember, no sleeping with your sister!” he called after John. “Or eating her!”

“What sort of monster do you take me for?” John yelled back, looking embarrassed. “Look at her! She’s ugly as sin and I’ll bet she tastes terrible, too!”

Alexis punched him. “Shut up, John!”

John ducked the next attempt to slug him, racing ahead of her. “You can’t make me!”

The Medic snickered, taking the moment to wipe his face before watching his “children” disappear over the horizon, letting out a sigh of contentment. “Sank you, Herr Sniper. I’m glad I got to have zis experience.”

“Ditto.” The Sniper, too, had a distant gaze. “I want a divorce.”

It took a moment for the words to register with the Medic. “Vas?”

“You heard me. Alexis and John don’t need us to play dad and ‘papa’ any more.” The Sniper pulled away now and headed back towards the RED side of the base.

The Medic gave chase and grabbed the Sniper by the wrist. “Vait! Let’s—”

“Have another?” the Sniper finished for the Medic, tearing away with a scowl. “Go find someone else to have your arse-babies.”

This time, the Medic just stood there, gazing at the Sniper’s backside.


End file.
